Doggy tales

I used to be a cat person; my first pet Timmy was carried from my grand-fathers farm here in Northamptonshire. It isn't a farm now but a sprawling housing estate in Rushden. I frequently drive past where wheat lolloped, pigs snuffled and piglets suckled, tractors furrowed, rats shot and Nanny goats sauntered near kicking donkey and me.
Timmy sat on my lap in the back of my grandfathers pig fan. I recall sitting on a green wooden garden seat that slithered around in the back. No health and safety then. I wasn't bothered about a bump or a bang on the head. The most thing was my lovely tabby Timmy; neat sharp claws sinking into my wrists or my knees.

My Timmy a friend rather than a simple ordinary moggy. How can any pet we love be ordinary. They beguile with purrs and mysterious eyes but their cries are demanding; until we give in and give them the best of everything.

I softened his fur with my tears when my dad died and softened him again when we moved homes.
He wasn't there for me to soften his coat when he had to be put to sleep; even though there wasn't anything wrong with him.

There have been several loss's of beautiful soft coated cats' dogs to, but I will always remember my lovely Timmy.